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Love and diamonds

I know nothing about love. Still, yesterday I celebrated 17 years of marriage and two decades besides the same woman. Romantic, you may say. For me, the biggest mistake in life. Fortunately, also the best.

20 years ago I decided to love. My motivations were all twisted. Got married as a kid, at 19, pressured by Darwin and the flames of hell, kindly presented to me by the faith of my folks.

But I was in love. Wrote letters, made incredibly long calls, caught late night buses. Once, I had no money for the fare and walked through the darkest and most dangerous places in town with a rose between my teeth.

My first gift was precisely this. We were still dating and I knew nothing better than a red rose. Ignored all other flavours. The red rose was, to me, the only one people used to make.

From there I never improved much. This one time I sent, by letter, a tiny sea shell. It was red. Reminded me of the rose and I took it would make a good present. It did. Though it reached is destination in pieces which she quickly glued together like a puzzle.

After a while I stopped giving presents (like I ever started). I didn't know what love was. Would I be romantic? Of course not. In a few anniversaries I even took her to McDonald's. A huge thing when you compare to the alternative: nowhere.

And it wasn't because I am cheap. I am not. And I've never been poor, in my pocket or my spirit. My anti-romance was exactly that. Lack of touch. Lack of love. Zero sensibility to see in the woman of my life what she already saw in me.

But I believe in compensation and yesterday decided to justify my 20 years of emotional deficit. I bought diamonds. For the neck. For the years. For the eyes. For the heart.

I still know nothing about love. I also understand very little about diamonds. I just know one of them I can buy. The other, I hope for the next 20 years to keep trying to comprehend.

In the evening, we went out for dinner. She didn't want to eat. I got a Quarter Pounder.